


A Touch of Hell

by hybridshade (shimyaku)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Biting, Blood Drinking, Character Turned Into Vampire, Demon Deals, Demons, Dimension Travel, Dubious Science, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic-Users, Mild Gore, Mutual Masturbation, Semi-Omnipotent Steve, Sneakiness, Steve Angst, Temporary Character Death, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimyaku/pseuds/hybridshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky have always been part of a darker existence, have always known the truth about those things that go bump in the night. With Bucky being from a family of Hunters and Steve being a magic user, their relationship defies all logic, but as time goes on their bond only grows stronger. As it is, Steve would do anything for Bucky. Even if it means breaking every rule of magic he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Marvel Big Bang. 
> 
> There is some vague inspiration taken from various plot points of Supernatural, but nothing terribly obvious and absolutely no knowledge of that show is required.

It was the words that first caught Bucky's attention. Or rather, one word in particular.

It was a word that would make most people turn around and walk the other way despite whatever altercation was taking place round the corner, despite that someone might be hurt or in danger. That was because most people didn't know any better. They simply went about their day-to-day business living their crippled little lives with the fear always hanging over them – the fear of the unknown.

But Bucky wasn't most people. He might have only been eleven years old, but he'd been brought up not to fear what others feared most, taught to run towards the darkness instead of scampering away from it in terror. That wasn't to say he had no sense of self-preservation – he knew how to read the signs, call for reinforcements, or pull out the even bigger guns if he had to. Because you couldn't fight the dark if you were dead.

"Yeah, cry all ya like, little witch baby."

Edging around the corner, Bucky found the cause of the commotion. Three boys about his own age and size were picking on an even smaller boy, calling him names and kicking him while he was down. The kid was curled up in a ball on the dirty ground, just taking whatever these bullies were dishing out, not even attempting to defend himself. He grunted when he took another shoe to the ribs, but said nothing in response to their taunts.

"Why ain'cha callin' for mummy, huh?"

"Yeah, mummy'll save ya!"

"Oh no, maybe she'll come along and curse us all!"

All three laughed at that, but Bucky had had enough. Nearby a broken wood carton was propped up against the alley wall and he pried a loose plank from it, quickly making his advance. One of the boys noticed first, then alerted the others. The biggest of them took a step forward, looking like he was about to rush at Bucky, but then he noticed the plank in his hands and hesitated.

Bucky smirked.

"Wanna try it, punk?"

"Who you callin' _punk_?"

The boy clenched his fists, but then one of his buddies held him back.

"Leave off, Donny. That's the Barnes' kid."

"Barnes? As in, Crazy Old Man Barnes?"

He watched with satisfaction as the realisation came over the kid's face, and then suddenly all three of them were turning and making a run for it like the Devil was on their heels. Bucky dropped the plank once he was sure they were gone, and hurried to the smaller boy's side. He was straw blonde and skinny as a rake, his too-big clothes all out of place and muddied from the ground. He hadn't moved an inch since Bucky had come round the corner, but he appeared to still be breathing.

"Hey-a, Pal," Bucky said with a tight smile, "Chased those bullies off for ya. They kicked you good an' hard, though. Reckon you're alright, or no?"

"'M fine," the kid croaked, clearly in pain, "I've had worse."

Slowly, carefully, he uncurled himself, looking and moving like a grandpa. Long sleeves and long pants covered whatever bruising there might be, and he'd obviously protected his face enough that there was little more than a graze on his chin. His skin was otherwise clear and pale, his face sort of ordinary looking, but then bright blue eyes blinked up at Bucky and suddenly everything clicked into place.

"You, um…" _Your eyes are real blue, like._ "What's your name?"

The boy clearly noticed his staring, because he stared right back, looking as though he could will all Bucky's secrets to the surface if he only stared hard enough. But after a few moments, he relented, seemingly satisfied with something.

"It's Steve. What's yours?"

"James Barnes. But everyone calls me Bucky. Sometimes I even forget I'm called James, y'know? But, um, do I need to call a doctor or somethin' for ya, Steve? Reckon they roughed you up pretty good…"

"Nah, I'm fine. Just gonna be sore for a while. Nothin' I can't handle."

"If you say so," Bucky replied, though he didn't really believe it. Steve remained sitting on the ground as he started to brush the dirt from his sleeves, and Bucky hesitated before he spoke again. "So, um, what those punks were sayin'… Is it true?"

Steve froze, refusing to look Bucky in the eye.

"She'd never curse anyone, 'specially a kid, if that's what you mean… But yeah, my ma's a witch. A good witch, though. She's a good person…"

"Does that mean you're one, too?"

Steve's shoulders hitched in some semblance of a laugh.

"Well, no, 'cause then I'd have to be a girl."

"Right. So you're a warlock, then?"

Cautious eyes glanced back at him curiously from under long lashes. "You know, you asked that way too easy. Why, what are _you_?"

Bucky paused, realising what Steve was getting at. People who _knew things_ … they didn't go around just blabbing to anyone and everyone that they _knew things_. Except that that didn't mean people wouldn't still find out. Clearly Steve's mother had gotten herself a reputation somehow. And Bucky's old man had a slightly different sort of reputation, though a reputation all the same. That meant he and Steve already had something in common, so what the heck…

"My family are Hunters. As far back as anyone can track 'em. And I'll be a proper Hunter too, someday – staking vamps and casting out demons and the like."

"Oh, wow," Steve finally looked up, his eyes big and round, "My ma's talked about your family before, now I think about it. Just in passing, I mean. She… She actually told me to stay away from Hunters."

"Well. I'm not a full Hunter yet, y'know – haven't even banished a spirit by myself or anything! So maybe I don't count?"

Steve thought about it for a moment, before finally nodding in acceptance. Bucky grinned.

"But if she said that to you… you _must_ be a warlock, right? Surely she wouldn't warn you off Hunters without a reason. And I promise I won't tell."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

"Okay, so… My ma says I'm like a warlock, but not. She's had other witches and other people check me out, but no one knows what I am. Not exactly."

Somehow the vagueness of Steve's answer only made Bucky all the more interested. "You can do magic though, right?"

"Um. Sometimes? But I don't really like doing it."

"Why not? You must be able to do some neat things!"

"Not so much. Sometimes the power comes out without me meaning it to. And even when I do it on purpose, bad things always happen, so…"

"What sorta bad things?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Steve answered with a sigh, "And I dunno. Starting fires. Making walls or bits of the roof collapse. Just… bad things."

Bucky took a moment to think. His uncle was usually the one in charge of his training since his father was always out on a hunt somewhere, and he'd always said that Bucky had an odd knack for strategy. Almost as good as his aim, he said.

"You probably just need to learn how to control it better. I mean, you're only a kid, right? And kids like us go to school to learn things. Obviously you can't go to school to learn to be a warlock, but that doesn't mean you can get to be one without learning warlock types of things." A plan was beginning to form in Bucky's head. Something told him that Steve would probably object, but Bucky figured that if he pestered him about it enough that he'd probably give in. "Hunters have to know lots of weird things too, and I bet my father's got books about magic somewhere. Maybe I can nick one while he's not looking and we can go practice together. I'll help you, don't worry!"

"Bucky, I'm not sure that—"

"Aw, c'mon, Steve! It'll be great. With me in your corner, we'll get you sorted in no time."

Steve huffed yet another sigh. "Fine."

 

~

 

Bucky headed through the front door with a skip in his step. He had a few friends already, even if they were mostly the kids of other Hunters that worked with his father, but somehow he just got the feeling that Steve was going to be the best pal he ever had. They'd only parted ways at the end of the block, Bucky watching as his new friend had hobbled home a little worse for wear, meaning that Steve must've lived close by. Bucky couldn't wait to see him again.

His mother was at the stove cooking dinner, her long dark hair cloaking half her face, covering the scar that tracked down from her forehead and pinched the skin across her eyelid. She'd always hidden it behind her hair, as if she were ashamed or embarrassed about it. Bucky could never understand why she thought that way, though. He thought it was a great scar, thought it made her look like a fierce warrior or something, but she just didn't agree. After all, all their family members had more than their fair share decorating their bodies – it was just another part of being a Hunter.

"Someone's in a good mood."

"I made a new friend today, Ma. These bullies were hurting him and I chased them off. Now me and Steve are gonna be best pals."

"Oh? And what might Steve's last name be?"

"Rogers."

"That's …Sarah Roger's boy?"

Bucky gaped. "You know her?"

"Not exactly." She left the stirring spoon in the pot and turned to face him, her hands coming down on his shoulders. "You know what she is, that Ms Rogers?"

"Yeah, Steve told me she's a—"

"Don't say that word while you're inside the house, alright? I'll allow you to be friends with this boy, since you helped him today, but your father and your uncle don't need to know about it, do you understand?"

The seriousness with which she said the words had fear curling in the pit of Bucky's stomach – not because of what Sarah Roger was and the magic she supposedly held, but fear that Bucky's friendship would end before it had even begun. That fear soon became resolve, however. Steve was going to be his friend whether he liked it or not, and Bucky was determined to keep it that way.

 

~///+///~

 

Steve rolled over on the bed and let his eyes fall open. Taking a deep breath, he found himself breathing easier than he had in days. Possibly weeks. The rattle of his lungs was gone and he felt clear-headed, instead of like there was a black cloud swirling around in his skull trying to punch its way out.

He treasured these moments, but was also wary of them. It was always the calm before the storm. The longer he went without pain or illness, the more brutal the next attack would be. It had been like this since he was about fifteen. Just slowly building and building. He didn't know what it was building _to_ , but at the rate things were going he figured he'd be lucky to see thirty.

It was almost funny to think how innocent he'd been once, back when he'd been barely ten and still learning how his new friend Bucky would fit into his life. Bucky had been the first one to ever actively encourage him to use his magic. His mother had tried, of course, but when even the simplest of spellwork would continually spiral out of his control, Steve had instinctively put a cork in the 'everyday spells' category. The fear of hurting himself or worse – his mother – had prompted him to keep things bottled up tight after that. At least until Bucky had started stealing some of his father's black arts manuscripts and then dragging Steve to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere so he could 'practice'. Surprisingly enough, it had worked in the beginning. Between Bucky's encouragement and not having to worry about other people nearby, he _had_ managed to get a better handle on controlling and directing the power inside him, but only to a point. For starters, only certain kinds of spells had worked – namely those invoking destruction. Then, the more power he used, the weaker he became afterwards. The latter was what had worried him most – his body was scrawny enough and illness-prone enough as it was.

Then the headaches had started. He'd been fourteen by then. Ever since he could remember he'd always had strange dreams and terrible nightmares, but suddenly they'd taken a turn for the worse. Leaving pain and other lingering effects in their wake. Visions of horrible creatures and the trails of bodies they left behind. Phantom figures of himself or Bucky trying to fight back, only to fail in the worst possible way. Occasionally his mother had been able to soothe him with a specially brewed elixir, or a spell of dreamless sleep, but they had only worked some of the time. During the day he was tired more often than not, but he'd learned to live with it.

Pushing the thoughts away, Steve looked to the chair by the bed and found Bucky – a fast-asleep Bucky still dressed in his hunting gear. There'd been a vengeful spirit down by the docks of late, causing grief to the men who worked night shifts. That he hadn't even undressed himself was a good sign that he'd dismissed the spirit and was sleeping off the excitement of the fight. Steve wished he'd made it to the bed, though. Bucky had spent far too many nights in the chair at Steve's bedside, watching over him while he slept. Whether it was mopping his fevered brow or waking him from a bad nightmare, it didn't matter. Bucky's presence alone soothed him in a way nothing else ever had. And even while the nightmares continued to get worse, even while his body continued to break down under the stress of his power, Bucky was always there at his side.

They'd moved into their own apartment just before Steve had turned eighteen. He'd still been staying in his empty childhood home up to that point – 'empty' because his mother had died six months prior. Even right up to the end she'd still maintained that it was some kind of cancer, too advanced for anything to be done, but Steve never believed it. Too often he'd heard her chanting to the spirits in her room at night, burning herbs and crushing bone ash and pulling drops of blood from her needle-pricked fingertips. He never heard enough to know what she was appealing for, but he was confident that it was for him, for his health. His mother had always blamed herself for the weakness of his constitution. With his worsening attacks it made sense that she would squeeze out her magic to the last drop trying to help him. She was just that sort of person. And that was what Steve attributed her death to – she'd burned herself out, over-reaching with her magic to the point that her body just couldn't take it. And still he had no idea if anything she'd tried had worked. 

Bucky's father had been the true impetus for their move, however. With Bucky spending so much time with Steve, and Old Man Barnes suddenly turning back up after nearly three years gone, it was only a matter of time before their friendship was finally discovered. Barnes had been livid that his son was associating with an untried magic user, so Bucky had removed himself from his home and dragged Steve along with him. Their hearts were both still tender and sore at that point, but after some adjustment it turned out to be one of the best decisions they ever made. Steve could still vividly recall the first time they shared 'their' bed, how they'd woken tangled together, the physical closeness that had only grown more intimate with time…

He made a happy noise as the memory filled him up, and it proved to be just enough to stir Bucky from his sleep. Bucky groaned as he shifted, joints popping as they protested having been sitting too long in the same position. 

"Ugh, mornin'. How you feelin', Stevie?"

"For once, probably better than you."

Bucky's eyes popped. "Oh yeah? As in, good enough to get out and about for a bit? You just spent your twenty-first birthday in bed sick, y'know, so I've been kinda desperate to take you somewhere fun."

"It'd be real nice to get out of here, that's true. But are _you_ okay? You look a little… frayed around the edges." 

"I'm fine. It was just a little tougher than I expected." Bucky hunched over tiredly, elbows on his knees, and raked his fingers through his hair. "It's almost like all the things we usually hunt are getting stronger somehow. Or maybe I'm just imagining it. Who's to say…"

Closing his eyes as the images rushed forth, Steve reached out to grab hold of the fabric of Bucky's pants. 

"I don't think you're wrong. The dreams lately... Something's building. Somehow I just know it."

"See, didn't I tell you to pay more attention to them? If you tried to embrace them more rather than just pushing them away, maybe you'd start to understand them better. Maybe they'd hurt you less if you stopped fighting them so much."

"I feel like I'd lose myself if I did that," Steve confessed, heart in his throat, "But I don't really wanna talk about it. Tell me about the spirit instead."

"Fine, fine. So it was weird because it didn't seem to have an anchor like it usually would. Flyin' about the place, tossing things over - and I mean really heavy things, too. A bunch of the dockworkers actually asked me if they could help, so I ended up with them running around after it, whacking at it with iron bars while I tried to tie it down and banish it… It's so strange that normal people seem to know about this shit now. Two of the guys down there knew what I was hunting before I even got there! Probably woulda tried taking care of it themselves if they had half an idea how. Ten years ago this would never—"

"A lot can happen in ten years, Buck. Hell, a lot can happen in just one or two years. I mean, look at us?"

Bucky looked over at him, then reached down to grab his hand and press a kiss to the back of it. They'd been through so much together – Steve's illnesses, Bucky's hunting injuries, the ups and downs of Steve's powers, the demands of Bucky becoming a full-blown Hunter, family difficulties, growing up, moving out, falling in love… Really, it was a wonder they'd made it as far as they had. Or perhaps not. Bucky was the physically more capable one, sure, but Steve wasn't completely helpless. Bucky had taught him plenty of hunting techniques over the years. He knew how to throw a punch, knew how to aim and fire a gun or a crossbow. His kill count wasn't that great by comparison, but that he even _had_ a kill count made Steve feel all the better for it.

After a shower each, they went out just as Bucky had suggested – dinner and making out in the back of the movie theatre was the agenda. They came straight home after, though, when Steve felt the first signs of a headache coming on. Bucky put him straight back to bed, then quickly climbed in beside him and wrapped Steve in his arms.

"I wasn't gonna tell you just yet, but I found the name of a guy who might really be able to help you—"

"We've been through this a thousand times, Buck," Steve said with a weary sigh, "We've talked to a heap of Seers, dozens of wizards and warlocks all over New York, and they all basically say the same thing – my power's too strong for my body and it's killing me. There's nothing to be done."

He could practically feel the denial radiating from Bucky's skin. 

"This guy, though… Steve, listen, he's a scientist. A doctor, even. He just happens to know a bit about our kinds of things. Maybe he'll have a different perspective."

"Sure thing. I'm going to sleep now, Buck. Good night."

Perhaps Steve was as much in denial about not being able to be saved just as much as Bucky was that he _could_ be saved. Steve wished he could be more optimistic, but it got hard to keep one's hopes up after hearing so many times that there was no hope to be had.

 

~

 

Steve crawled out from under the covers, head screaming like someone had been nailing hot spikes into his skull. 

He reached over to the bedside drawer and pulled out a nearly full sketchbook, one that he kept apart from his usual book that he filled with pictures of buildings and scenery and people. Somewhere along the line Bucky's words had wormed their way into his brain, as they were wont to do, and he'd started letting the nightmares in. Bucky kept journals of his hunting encounters, so Steve had started keeping a journal of his own – one filled with all the horrors in his head.

Oddly enough, it helped. The nightmares were still a horrendous experience, but he found that he could navigate them better now, make some sort of sense of them where previously they'd made nearly no sense at all. He'd probably always known that there was some kind of connection there, some kind of circular link between his magic and monsters and dreams and real life. He'd never thought that what he 'saw' was actually _real_ , though, that they'd been any more than warnings or rationalisations of the life he lived. He'd never thought that the things in his dreams were events that actually occurred, or _would yet_ occur. But all the more he was starting to acknowledge that this was the most likely scenario. The more he sketched, the clearer the dreams became, and the more he was starting to get a sense of people and locations and even strings of legible words.

His hand felt stiff as he finally put the pencil down and looked. On the paper was an endless string of hellspawn crawling from out of a fiery pit – demons clawing their way out of Hell. A great serpent watched over them with glittering eyes.

Steve's heart clenched with foreshadowing.

 

~///+///~

 

Standing just outside the door, Bucky watched as Steve scribbled frantically in his sketchbook, purging the horrors that haunted his mind. He knew Steve didn't want him looking in that particular book, and Bucky didn’t mean to pry, but he hadn't managed to stop himself taking a peek every now and then when Steve was out.

He hated that Steve had to dream of all those horrible things, he always had. He wished he could take it from him – he'd gladly bear any of Steve's hurts if only to spare him. But he'd (mostly) come to terms with the fact that that wasn't a possibility. He had to believe that Steve endured all the things he did for a reason, just as Seers and other mediums did. The dreams were part of that, Bucky was sure. The drawings in Steve's sketchbook, they were creatures he was intimately familiar with, things only someone like a Hunter would know. Some of them Bucky only recognised because of descriptions he'd read in his family's journals and some obscure demonology manuscripts. He would have been more worried about _why_ Steve was having 'visions' of them if he didn't know the answer already.

Bucky looked down at the half-crumpled letter in his hand. 

His uncle had summoned him to Europe. There was an open Hellmouth there – an honest to god doorway to Hell – hidden somewhere in the Alps. No one yet knew who was responsible or how they'd accomplished it, but Hunters from all over were flocking there in droves to fight the many and varied things that kept escaping it and terrorising the surrounding countries. No matter how deeply he was tied to New York, Bucky couldn’t deny his calling. He had to go.

It would be hard, exhausting, a true test of his training, and fraught with death, but the hardest part of all would be having to tell Steve that he was leaving. 

 

~///+///~

 

Life felt so empty without Bucky in it.

That wasn't to say he didn't understand Bucky's reasons, because he did, but that didn't mean Steve had to like it either. In fact, there was a lot not to like. Namely what he saw when he closed his eyes. Since the day Bucky had left, whenever Steve slept, all he could see was Bucky. Some might have thought that a sweet thing, but they didn't know the darkness that cloaked his dreams. No, Steve wasn't that lucky. He didn't get to see Bucky walking and talking and loving him. Rather, he saw Bucky fighting and screaming and dying. Hardly 'sweet', and as far from comforting as you could get.

Steve wallowed in his gloom and depression for more than a week, scribbling frantically in his sketchbooks like a man possessed, before he finally woke up to himself. 

He couldn't stay there, letting the endless stream of darkness pile up on top of him. He had to go. He needed to be by Bucky's side or not anywhere at all. But he couldn't do it as he was.

It didn't take long to find the scrap of paper with Bucky's handwriting on it. Bucky had made a point of putting it somewhere obvious, somewhere Steve couldn't _not_ find it. And now Steve stood there with it hanging between his forefinger and thumb, the name and address staring up at him. Willing him to go.

Steve couldn't imagine what made this man different from any of the ones that had come before, but while Bucky had pushed him as insistently as ever, Steve had resisted just as strongly. Now he was left with no other choice. He just had to hope that the guy was different _enough_ to help him in some way. It gave Steve some small sliver of hope that since the man was an actual doctor with knowledge of both science and magic, that he might think a little outside the box. Hope was probably a dangerous thing to have, but as far as Steve was concerned, 'dangerous' didn't hold quite the same threat over him that it did for others.

All too soon Steve found himself sitting in some nondescript examination room, the pen in his hand scratching across a paper asking after his medical history. How the hell he was supposed to fit it all on a mere two dotted lines he had no idea. He'd been just about to start squeezing things down the side of the page when a bearded, bespectacled man wandered in and moved to look over Steve's shoulder.

"Quite the bragging rights you've got there."

He had an accent and didn't appear to be aware of Steve's suspicious gaze as he flicked a button on his starch-white lab coat.

"You'd be the first to call them that," Steve said curtly.

The man looked thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose so." He stuck his hand out suddenly. "I'm Dr Abraham Erskine, by the way."

Steve did the polite thing and shook the man's hand. "Steve Rogers."

"Indeed you are. I dare say I've been waiting for you."

"What do you mean by that, exactly?" he said with pointed curiosity. Steve didn't know what to make of the doctor except that he was clearly eccentric, but the idea that he'd been waiting for Steve? He didn't recall Bucky saying that he'd met the man, only that he'd gotten his name from somewhere…

"I don't mean that I already had your name written down. No, nothing like that. But, tell me, did a significant event occur in your life, say, ten days ago?"

His heart seemed to freeze in his chest for a moment too long. "How do you…? My b--… My best friend left for Europe. He's gone to fight at the Hellmouth." 

Dr Erskine glanced away and adjusted his glasses, and Steve wasn't sure if he was being addressed or if the Doctor was merely talking out loud.

"And if we assume that by 'best friend' you mean 'lover', then yes, that would do it. The shock of sending a loved one off towards certain death would definitely do it. But the readings being so high is still unexpected – it's a wonder there's any control at all. The fact that nothing more has happened in the meantime is almost unbelievable. Unless they can act as a deflection at the same time—"

"Doctor Erskine."

"Hm?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Are you going to start explaining or should I just be on my way?"

"Oh, no, no, you must not leave! There is so much to be done. So much…" The doctor paused and seemed to collect himself. "You must know of my reputation for blending science and magic, else you wouldn't be here. I have a particular machine in my lab that is able to measure currents of supernatural power travelling through the city's air space. Usually these currents are just echoes of events that have already occurred and concluded, but we noticed a number of months ago that there was a specific current that appeared to be flowing constantly. We've been monitoring it. It waxes and wanes like any magical source might do. But then about ten days ago there was a sudden… high capacity blast, if you will."

"That… was me?"

"Yes. I believe it was you, Steve. You set off our detectors when you entered the clinic here. You're throwing off a lot of power without even realising it. If this is your normal state? Well, I’m surprised you're still functioning, to be quite honest."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Steve tried to comprehend the doctor's words. He could feel a headache coming on, but while he would usually be hurrying back home, maybe Erskine would prove himself helpful after all. He looked at his hands and wondered if there were people out there who could see the power pouring out of him. Maybe they could see how weak he was with it. Maybe they could tell it was killing him and therefore left him alone.

"I've been told before that it'd kill me eventually," he confessed.

"And I would agree with that assessment," the doctor said with a gentle tone, "To contain such power as you have requires being sound in both mind and body, and going by what you've written on your medical history form there, clearly your body has never been up to the task."

"So your conclusion is that my body is the problem?"

Erskine gave a secretive smile and then bid Steve to follow him. They left the examination room and moved across the floor of the clinic, ducking into a hidden alcove that housed a flight of stairs. Steve followed close behind as they headed down. They descended far enough that Steve concluded they had to be at least two storeys underground – a basement beneath the basement. The door they eventually passed through opened into a large room filled with strange looking machines and scientific equipment and desks covered in paper. 

"Welcome to my lab."

Before he could even get close enough to anything to take a better look, a brown file was shoved into his hands, the cover of it stamped 'classified'. 

"This is something I've been working on for a long time, Steve. I've just been waiting for the right candidate to come along, and I think you might be that person."

Steve flipped open the file, the front page revealing the details of a project labelled 'soldier enhancement procedure'. Steve blinked with confusion – he was no soldier.

"The military were the ones who initiated this project," Erskine continued, "Somehow they'd heard about my unique expertise and they recruited me to find some way of either temporarily or permanently strengthening soldiers in order to lessen casualties and increase offensive damage during combat. I created several versions of a serum I thought would work – a serum that combined both scientific and magical methods – but initial tests were unsuccessful. The military pulled their funding, but that did not stop me from continuing work on the serum."

"So it works now?"

Steve got the feeling he knew what was coming next.

"After many refinements and having tested it on mice, yes I believe it should now be successful. I just need a willing subject. I'm hoping that might be you."

"How do you know I'm the right person for the job? How do you know my body won't just give out from the serum? It's probably just as likely to kill me. And what if I lose control of my powers? I could end up killing all of you as well."

Once again, Erskine smiled that elusive smile of his. 

"So, I may have a slight confession to make. You met my secretary Marion?"

"Yes, I did. She looked at me funny."

"Well, Marion… she might have some slight ability with foresight, you see…"

Slumping his shoulders, Steve helped himself to a chair. So the secretary was a Seer. He supposed that could be a good sign in some roundabout way. Perhaps she'd already seen that he would take the serum, that he would survive the enhancement and be all the better for it. Surely the doctor wouldn't waste such an experiment on a no-hoper like him without some sort of guarantee, would he? 

Steve pressed at his temples, trying to hold back his oncoming headache. He could sense that it was going to be a bad one. Not only that, but it would be his first ever that Bucky wouldn't be there to help him through it, and that was not a thought he cared to entertain. Bucky not being there was…

"What did she see?"

The doctor hesitated. "For fear of influencing events, I'm not going to tell you. Only know that both paths have… some negative outcomes. I think the phrase is, you're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't."

Steve sighed, knowing he shouldn't be surprised by the response. Seers were rarely forthcoming about the details of their visions.

"Fine. Let's do it then."

Erskine bounced on his toes. "I was hoping you would say that."

 

~

 

An army base in Italy was the last placed Steve had ever expected to find himself. Yet there he was.

Apparently, despite that the military had pulled their funding from Dr Erskine, he still had some contacts within the system. It seemed that they were well aware of the Hellmouth, just as they were aware of the mass migration of Hunters. The European forces were content to let the Hunters do the heavy lifting, but had deployed ground and air support to major cities to deal with anything that made it that far. Of course, that didn't mean they left the Hunters completely to their own devices. Dr Erskine had been in touch with two of his 'underworld' contacts – two supernatural folk who worked for some secret arm of British and American intelligence, keeping an eye on the Hellmouth and Hunters both. They were to meet Steve and take him wherever he needed to go.

Looking to the mountains in the distance and then back down at his hands, Steve took a steadying breath. It was unsettling enough to be in a foreign land, but to be in a foreign body as well was taking its toll. He had to keep reminding himself that it _was_ still his body and still his face, just… upgraded. Against all odds, the serum had worked. And it had given him the physique of a 'super soldier', just as it had been designed to do. Suddenly, after the years of pain and illness and nightmares, he had found equilibrium. He had almost perfect control of his power now, his newfound strength could regulate the fluxes of magic within him and contain it, where before it would simply push its way out of him and make him sick. He could recognise magic within others for the first time ever. He could _sense_ the supernatural all around him – light prickles on his skin, shadows out the corner of his eye, auras emanating from people's bodies. It was all the intricacies of magic he'd always wished for. It was just so… strange. 

The nightmares were still a problem, however. Still filled with horrors, and still leaving him gasping afterwards. But he felt more equipped to handle them now. The images were clearer than they'd ever been, and he was getting a better sense of time and place more quickly. He brushed a hand across his bag and thought about the sketchbooks he had packed in there. He still drew what he saw in his dreams and found a strange comfort in continuing to do so. Now he just needed to find Bucky so he could help Steve make sense of it all.

A short time later a truck pulled up in front of him. A man with a moustache got out of the driver's side, while a woman – quite likely the most beautiful one he'd ever laid eyes on – emerged from the passenger seat.

"Steve Rogers?"

"That'd be me."

Steve got to his feet, moving to shake hands with the two of them. He could pick up a slight resonance in the air that alerted him to their hidden nature. Erskine hadn't given him any specifics, but something about their 'feel' told him that theirs was a very physical type of power.

"I'm Peggy Carter," the woman said with a confident smile, "And this is Howard Stark. We'll do what we can for you, but if I understood Dr Erskine correctly, we will only be able to take you so far."

"That's already more than I can ask for, ma'am."

"Just Peggy is fine. And I'm glad to see the good doctor was finally successful. You make, uh, quite the picture, Steve."

Steve could feel the blush creep from his hairline right down to his toes. He was all too aware of the height and the ridiculous muscles he'd acquired, and it registered that Peggy's was the first real compliment he'd ever gotten from a dame. Thankfully, he managed to bite his tongue just in time to stop those exact words falling from his lips. 

Howard cleared his throat. "Shall we head out, then?" 

Eager to get going, Steve was all too happy to take the out, grabbing his bag and jumping into the back seat of Howard's truck. Howard kicked it into gear and then they were leaving the base and making for the mountains. Hours passed, during which Steve was enlightened to the fact that both Peggy and Howard were Shapeshifters, an ability that made them excellent 'spies' for their respective intelligence agencies. Although apparently Howard also had some sort of low-level affinity with metal – a fact that made him a dab hand at inventing things, and what had initially endeared him to one Dr Erskine. Peggy had then explained that she had a special knack for reading people, but Steve had to wonder whether she didn't actually have a power for that, but instead was just naturally extremely intelligent and perceptive. In return Steve told them his own story, which, of course, included Bucky. He gave no indication of the actual measure of their closeness, but he had no doubt that Peggy had still picked up on his feelings for his friend. Howard, on the other hand, was more fascinated by the friendship between a warlock and a Hunter and asked more than once how they'd gotten away with it.

The truck came to a stop just as the sun was beginning to drop below the horizon. All three of them stepped out into the chilled air and Howard clicked on some sort of fancy looking torch. Peggy produced a roughly drawn map of the area and explained the terrain to Steve.

"The Hellmouth is here on this plateau. It's about two miles from where we are right now, and there are encampments of Hunters scattered everywhere in between. Your best bet would be to find Bucky's group. Do you know who he'd be with?"

"Not for certain, but his father's known as Old Man Barnes. I always took it that he was some bigshot in the Hunting world."

Howard scoffed. "Yeah, I'd say so."

"Jacob Barnes is known to the military intelligence community," Peggy clarified, "He's very effective at what he does, but he also makes a lot of noise and has little regard for the consequences of his actions."

"Do you know where he is, then?"

"Not as such, but I figure with those powers of yours that you could probably scry Bucky in a matter of seconds."

"Oh, right." Steve blinked as the realisation settled over him. It was still taking some getting used to that he could use his magic so freely now. He closed his eyes and held his hand over the map, reciting one of the finder spells Bucky had made him memorise way back when. Any time he did simple spells now it was startling how quickly and smoothly his magic reacted, and the finder spell was no different. Almost immediately he felt a tugging sensation in his hand, followed by heat. He opened his eyes to see a small brown mark burning itself into the map, and Steve knew that that was where Bucky was. He'd thought that was the end of it, but as soon as he moved his hand away a storm of images flashed through his mind in quick succession. He gasped at the violence, the blood and the corpses he could see. Clearly it was a vision of the Hellmouth. But what made it even worse was the deathly pale face of Bucky that revealed itself, clear as day. 

"Oh, _god_. No, it's not…"

"Steve, talk to me!" Peggy grabbed his shoulders and shook him with considerable strength. "What did you see?"

"It's Bucky. He's… I saw him dead. I saw piles of people dead. I don't… don't know if it was the present or the future. I have to go."

He turned hurriedly to the truck to grab his pack, hefting it onto his back. He strapped whatever weapons he could to his hips and thighs and into his boots. Then he made to leave.

"Wait, Steve. Take this." Howard quickly produced a large disc of metal from the back of the truck. It shone silver and was etched with spelled runes. "It's a shield. I made it from a unique silver alloy, so it should pack a punch to any nasties sensitive to silver, and the runes should help to repel most medium to high-level spells."

"Howard—"

"Please, Steve."

Steve took the shield gratefully and hooked it over his arm.

"Please be careful, Steve," Peggy appealed, "And don't hesitate to reach out to us if you need help. Both of us are receptive to telepathic communication."

He thanked them both profusely and then headed off at a run. He wished he could say more – he owed them that – but the thought of Bucky simply clouded his focus too much. Hopefully they understood and could forgive him. 

Traversing the forest path was tedious but not difficult. He used his powers whenever he came upon the Hunters' camps, hiding himself with a cloaking spell. Listening in to their conversations proved fruitless, so he moved on as quickly as he'd arrived. It took him nearly an hour to cover the 'two mile' distance, moving mostly uphill and having to go the long way around several obstacles, but he reached the plateau eventually. He could see the Hellmouth up ahead – a large crack in the cliff face that glowed with a golden aura. Hunters stood guard, waiting for whatever might approach, but things seemed quiet for the time being. Even so, the Hellmouth was not where he was headed. Instead his destination was in the opposite direction – what turned out to be a cave with the stench of ripe flesh wafting out from within. He divested himself of his pack and hid it carefully in a tree nearby, before returning to the cave entrance and arming himself with his shield and an iron machete. He recalled Bucky once telling him very clearly that most flesh-eating nasties could be taken out with a swift beheading.

"Who the hell are you?"

Steve turned to find an aging man in hunting leathers, his expression clearly not amused. 

"I'm Steve and I've come to get James Barnes."

"Yeah, and I'm Santa Claus. You can call me Colonel, though."

"Well, Colonel, I'll be on my way now."

The Colonel made a noise Steve supposed was meant to be a laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze.

"Son, you go in there and you ain't comin' out. I'm assumin' that by James you meant the Old Man's kid Bucky. He's been in there a good few days by now, along with a few other whackos that call themselves Hunters. More likely to be stale vampire chow by now."

Steve blinked. "So it's vamps in there?"

"Son, did you hear anything I just said?"

"Yeah I did, but I'm ignoring you."

He left the Colonel to splutter to himself and moved quickly into the cave. He followed the passage downwards and only stopped once he sensed something nearby. Another spell came to mind and with a swift motion of his hand a 'bomb' of sunlight exploded through the cavern, the screams of dying vamps shocking his ears. He send up another, though this time directed it to linger for a longer time, allowing him plenty of light to attack the vamps that were still kicking. They tried to swarm him, but with their bodies weakened by the 'sunlight', he was able to relieve them of their heads with little difficulty.

Then came the hard part. 

Bodies were strewn all around the cavern, but none appeared to be Bucky. The sound of a voice suddenly reached his ears, and in following it Steve located a second room at the back. He found a cage filled with men, some English speaking and some not, but all were beyond grateful to be set free of their prison. 

"Never thought we'd be getting' outta that one alive, eh boys?"

"Zis is quite ze unusual circumstance."

"What's y' name, kid? We gotta thank y' properly."

"Um, I'm Steve. Steve Rogers."

"More like Captain America, ain't that the truth!"

"Nice one, Gabe. Captain America it is. What y' think, kid?" 

"Um, I'm actually looking for Bucky Barnes. Have you seen him?"

"Oh, zis iz very bad, Captain. Zey took him to ze feeding room. No one ever comes out."

"The feeding room?"

Steve barrelled ahead as soon as he knew the way, kicking aside the rock that'd been used to block the door. He found another smaller cavern behind it, one with rotting bodies literally piled against the walls. He illuminated the room with a whispered word, and felt his knees go out when he found Bucky lying in the middle of the floor. He must have been their most recent victim.

"Bucky, no. No, please."

A hand against Bucky's cheek found his skin to be cold and waxy to the touch, but with all the blood and bitemarks covering his body, Steve should have known. He just couldn't accept that this was the end.

"No, I won't let it end here. I can't. There's gotta be…"

He gasped as the memory came to him. One of Bucky's father's books of dark magic. A book of great demons and beasts and summoning spells.

Before he could even think it over he was slicing open the palm of his hand and painting his blood onto the dusty ground. A snake-like symbol took shape, and as he closed the circle around the outside of it he could feel the ground start to shake. The symbol glowed red, and a moment later a humanoid beast took shape in its centre, crimson skin clinging to misshapen bones. 

"You called for me, Warlock? You dare disturb my slumber?"

"You guard the gates of Hell, so you can retrieve souls, can you not? My friend is dead and I want him back."

The creature looked at Bucky's body, then looked back at Steve. Staring at him like he was imagining peeling Steve's skin back, layer by layer.

"What's in it for me, Warlock? There is always a price."

"When I'm dead you can take my soul. That good enough?"

"Mm, I accept. State your conditions – you get three."

"I want Bucky to come back to me alive. I want us to live long lives and then die together."

The creature smiled. "Humans are so easily pleased."

Then an instant later the creature was gone, taking its summoning symbol with it. The pressure in the cavern mounted, making it hard for Steve to get a full breath in, but then it relented just as quickly as it had come. It left him gasping, his illumination spell growing weak, but then it happened. 

Bucky's body convulsed. His cheeks regained a hint of colour, and he convulsed again. Next thing he was rolling onto his side and hacking up a lung, and Steve quickly rushed to his side to help him up. 

"Buck? Are you alright?"

The coughing continued, but Bucky managed to settle himself enough to reply.

"Stevie? That you?" He looked up, weak and bleary eyed. "What happened? You got big?"

"I went to see a doctor."

Steve hooked his shield on his back and took the brunt of Bucky's weight. They exited the cave to whistling and cheering courtesy of the men he'd rescued from the cage, along with plenty of exclamations of Bucky being alive. The Colonel, along with a scattered group of Hunters, was also among those watching them. He could feel the displeasure from the Hunters' unfriendly looks, so was more than happy to follow the so-called 'whackos' as they made a camp of their own. The Howling Commandos, as they dubbed themselves (since two of them were werewolves), retrieved whatever was left of their belongings, and Steve got his pack, and they were able to build a fire pit, pitch tents, and make some semblance of a meal from what food Steve had brought with him. Steve took a moment to close his eyes and make a connection to Peggy, letting her know that he had Bucky and was safe, and then one look at Bucky's drooping body had him deciding that it was bed time.

He crawled into the tent, dragging Bucky in after him, and finally they were alone.

They settled in their sleeping rolls, but Steve was all too aware of Bucky's wakefulness. 

"What'd you do, Steve?"

He couldn't hide his flinch. "What do you mean?"

"Everything," Bucky hissed, "Your new body, first off. Then you being here at the Hellmouth. Then… me. I… I'm pretty sure I was dead. No. I _know_ I was dead. I don't know how, but I'm sure of it."

"Well… I went to that doctor you told me about. He fixed me. My magic's stable now. Then he got me over here so I could find you. I'd been having visions of what was happening. I saw you dead… Then actually finding you like that, I… I couldn't, Buck, I just couldn't leave you like that, I—"

"You're a damn fool, is what you are."

Bucky wrapped his arms around him like he'd always done, and eased Steve's head against his chest. Somehow, despite the change in Steve's size, they fit together as perfectly as ever. 

"You made a deal, didn't you."

Steve nodded, noting that Bucky hadn't phrased it like a question. They knew each other too well.

"That's what every Hunter is warned about from birth – never deal with demons. I'm not gonna ask you details, 'cause I don't wanna know, but I hope you're prepared for the worst."

His fingers gripped into Bucky's undershirt, digging in deep. How was he ever going to let go again?

"It will have been worth it, just to have you like this again."

Bucky clucked his tongue. "Like I said, a damn fool."

 

~

 

The other Hunters were suspicious of Steve, especially Bucky's clan once they figured out who he was. But once they'd seen him fight a time or two, they were nice enough to back off a little. 

Between stints guarding the Hellmouth, Steve used what little resources were available to devise a way of closing the damn thing. With the combined knowledge of those around him, along with a few 'mind calls' to Peggy, he'd decided that it was the work of a single, very powerful demon. A demon with enough juice could rip a hole between dimensions and keep it open for as long as it had power. A demon with enough standing in Hell was able to command any creatures beneath it to do its bidding. Steve read enough about high-level demons until his eyes went crossed.

He looked up from his notebook as he sensed Bucky draw near.

"Stevie, there's something—"

"Something coming. Something big. I can feel its power."

He hooked his shield over his left arm and picked up a rune-etched sword with his right. Then he and Bucky were hurrying back to the plateau, where more Hunters were gathered than Steve had ever seen in one place before.

The first blast sent the front line flying. 

Streams of creatures of all kinds began flooding through the rip and then the screaming started. Bucky positioned himself on an outcrop above the plateau, taking out the creatures from above with rifle modified to kill demons. Steve, on the other hand, made his way towards the Hellmouth itself. He had an idea of what might work, but he had to get close enough to do it. He cut down dozens of creatures as he went, some of the bodies disintegrating into dust while others fell to the ground and melted into fiery ashes.

Once he made it to the front line he cut his palm open for the second time in as many months and began placing symbols around the rock face. He recited an incantation all the while – a spell written in Latin that he'd crafted himself. He just had to hope he had all the words right.

He got his first inkling that it was working when the ground started to shake. Someone was angry.

"You again, Warlock!"

A section of ground nearby collapsed downwards, taking Hunters and creatures down with it. Then a beast rose up in their wake. Crimson-skinned and skeletal.

"So it was you all along," Steve said between grit teeth, coming to the sudden realisation that he'd most likely been tricked in his deal to bring Buck back to life.

"How smart of you to figure me out!"

The creature's cackling sounded like screeching metal.

"Too bad you won't live long enough to enjoy it."

It threw a bolt of power at him, which Steve was barely able to deflect with his shield. He didn't have time to pick up his sword again, no matter that it probably wouldn't help, so he drummed up a bolt of power of his own, aiming it at the Hell-beasts core. It appeared to take a hit, except that it only laughed in response. He threw another bolt in quick succession and used the distraction to finish drawing the final symbol on the rock wall. He started up his incantation again, and that was what really got the creature's attention. It threw blow after blow at Steve, but he was able to counter them all. He almost felt as if he had the upper hand until Bucky entered into the corner of his eye. Two demons had him by the throat and were dragging him towards the Hellmouth's opening.

"Not so tough now, are we?" the creature taunted, smiling a lipless grin.

The demons were attempting to push Bucky right into the rip, while Steve had to keep deflecting shots of power. He was running out of time and losing the thread of what he needed to do.

"Kill it, Stevie! Use its name!"

He wracked his brain, and then it came to him in a moment of clarity.

"I cast you out, Hydra!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, feeling the hope swell as the beast's expression turned sour.

"Not fast enough," it hissed is response. And Steve watched in slow motion as Bucky's body seemed to get sucked up by the Hellmouth, its golden glow swallowing him whole.

"No! _No!_ I cast you out, Hydra!"

He felt the snap as the tight reign he kept on his power came loose. The resulting boom knocked down Hunter and demon alike, but Steve was adrift at sea. His magic was too much and too fast. The Hydra looked curious more than scared, and Steve was determined to put the thing down if it was the last thing he did. 

Getting to his feet, Steve thought he heard his name being called, but he couldn't bring himself to shift his focus. He staggered towards the demon, hands raised, and he held the beast in place with sheer will alone, keeping it still enough that he could take it in his hands and…

Pulling its heart from its chest was the easy part. 

But he could feel the swell of destructive energy building, energy wrought by the beast's death. Steve had just enough time to cast a protective bubble around them before the Hydra screamed like nails on a chalkboard. And then it all went dark.

 

~///+///~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the additional tags.

When he came to there was darkness once again. 

He tried to move, but found himself trapped in a narrow box. No, not a box. A _coffin_. 

Taking a breath, Steve punched with all his might. His first went straight through the wooden lid, but found only air on the other side, rather than dirt. He kicked and punched some more until the lid came off its hinges, then shakily got to his feet and leaned against the 'walls' of the grave. He felt exhausted.

"You doin' okay down there?"

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked up to find three people staring down at him intently – two women, a redhead and a brunette, and a tall black man – all three of whom were dressed in fitted black outfits.

"You Hunters?"

The black man smirked, his non-eyepatch-covered eye crinkling at the edges. "Of a sort."

"And where am I exactly?"

"A long way from home, Captain."

Steve did a double-take. "Captain? How do you know about that? I can count on two hands the number of people who know that joke and they don't include you."

"Everyone knows about it, Cap. Except it's not a joke."

Heaving himself out of the grave, Steve forced himself upright and brushed the dirt and soot from his clothes – the same clothes he'd been wearing on the plateau. These people needed to start explaining things or he was outta there. But in glancing around him, beyond the cemetery, out into the city, he realised he might just be out of his depth on this one.

"When you said I was a long way from home… How long are we talking?"

"Oh, about seventy years, give or take."

"…I see."

"Reports of your death were obviously greatly exaggerated," the redhead explained, "But you have to expect that when over a hundred people see you disappear in a giant ball of fire. And in killing the Hydra, everything that it had ever touched was immediately reversed, so the effect was noticed world-wide. Dozens of official and unofficial accounts have been written about you and what happened at that time. You're a bit of a legend these days, particularly among the underground."

"The underground?"

The brunette finally spoke up. "That's just what people like us call ourselves collectively. The supernatural isn't quite as widespread as it was in your day. Hunters, creatures, and magic users – we've kind of become an unintentional secret. Though some prefer to call it a conspiracy."

Steve nodded in understanding. It was basically the reverse of what he'd grown up with – people were looking away instead of opening their eyes. He didn't blame them, though. If he'd have had any semblance of a choice he probably would have chosen ignorance, too.

"So when you say 'people like us'…?"

"We're all on your side of the equation," the man said, gesturing to the women in turn, "We're all Hunters, but Maria is also a Dreamwalker, Natasha is what you would have called a witch, and as for me… I'm Nick Fury, and I'm really good at getting people to talk."

"And is any of that going to explain how I just jumped seventy years through time?"

"Nope. Because you didn't."

Natasha sighed. "What he means is you didn't go immediately from your time to here. What we figure is that when you killed the Red Skull – what modern times calls the Hydra – you got sucked into Purgatory with it. Purgatory is where non-human things go to die. It's what's known as a static realm – nothing changes, time doesn't pass, but everything on Earth continues as normal. So you've been in there all these years, stuck in a kind of stasis. Maria is able to traverse dimensions when she dreams, and it was only by chance that she found you there. She came to me and with a little dark magic I was able to pull you back out."

"Well, I guess that explains how I didn't die."

"Waking up in a coffin didn't mess with your mind?"

"No. I've dreamed of people while they're dying. I know what it feels like. It's just…" Steve ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated, "I don't know. All of this is so bizarre. All I ever wanted to do was save Bucky, and look where it's gotten me."

"He was your friend, right?" Maria asked, "Accounts say he was swallowed up by the Hellmouth."

His fists clenched. "That's true. All the power I had, all the crazy lengths I went to, and I still couldn't save him."

"As it happens, I've got a position open." Fury crossed his arms over his chest. "How would you like to save some other people instead?"

"Well, I think I'm seventy years overdue for a bath, but sure. That sounds swell."

 

~

 

He took Fury up on his job offer, if only for something to pass the time while he figured out his new place in the world.

It was almost a foreign concept to be part of an actual, organised team, but Steve figured he'd get used to it. They were all Hunters, and even more of a motley bunch than the Commandos were, which was saying something. Along with Natasha and Maria there was Bruce (a werewolf), Thor (a titan from a realm full of gods), Clint (a Hunter with some mild shielding powers), Sam (a Nephilim – the notion of which still blew Steve's mind), and finally Howard's son Tony, who was a scientist in denial about his transmutation abilities and for some reason refused to acknowledge that his father was a Shapeshifter. It made for one hell of a barrel full of deep-seeded issues, but it wasn't like Steve had room to complain. At the very least, they were all really good about helping him get up to speed with modern times. Not just new technology and new social norms, but also how far Hunting had come. They could fit whole libraries worth of supernatural lore on a single tiny device now.

Not that it helped with all situations, as Steve quickly found out. He had his shield back, which was nice, since it had apparently been rescued from the plateau that day, but when they were fighting everything from golems-gone-wild, to lesser gods, to small armies of robots, they occasionally had to wing it and hope for the best. Their latest enemy was more 'traditional', however. Large groups of very organised demons were appearing out of nowhere, killing supernatural folk and leaving gory, violent messes in their wake. If only they could anticipate an attack then maybe they'd be getting somewhere, but Natasha had had no luck in tracing them so far.

Steve could probably have done it. _Probably._ But he was still tentative about using his power, remembering all too well how he'd lost control, so he'd been sticking to the physical stuff and letting Natasha handle the magic side of things. There was one exception to the rule, however.

Most nights he was still plagued by nightmares, and he'd gotten himself a new sketchbook to put everything to paper like he'd always done. It didn't take him long to notice a pattern – more and more often he was dreaming of Bucky. It was as unsettling as it was comforting. Except that he'd always thought his dreams were limited to the present or imminent future. But what if…

Getting a world map was easy enough.

He spread it out on the floor and sat in front of it, hands stretched out, palms down. Closing his eyes he let his thoughts fill with all things Bucky. He let it take him where it would as the scrying spell passed his lips, and then he waited. Night after night, he waited. But the lack of response didn't deter him. Sometimes he thought he could feel the vaguest pull in one or another direction. Sometimes it was it was more like a push, or a sharp jab. Then other times there was nothing at all. It made no sense, but he wasn't giving up without answers.

Natasha found him like that one night, hands over the map, deep in concentration.

"Steve, what are you—"

"What does it look like?" he huffed with irritation, losing his focus. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes, staving off a headache, then turned to face Natasha. "Sorry. I was just… Never mind. But tell me something, what usually happens when you scry someone that's dead?"

"Dead?" Natasha pursed her lips. "Depends how long they've been dead for, but generally you'll get either their gravesite or the site of their death – whichever has the most potent echo of them."

"And if I'm not getting any kind of reading whatsoever?"

"That would suggest they're not within your search parameters… Steve, is this about Bucky?"

He let his head fall into his hands. "Who else would it be about?"

"He fell into the Hellmouth, Steve. Not to be blunt, but he's long dead, and there's no way you'd ever be able to trace his remains, not without a doorway directly into the Hell realm and some serious juice backing you up. And even then it's a long shot. Things in Hell don't just die, they're obliterated."

"I get that, but… I've been dreaming about him, and I've only ever dreamed of things that are happening right now or that will happen in the near future. I've been scrying for him for days now, and I keep getting a sense of _something_ , but not… I don't even know what. If he's really dead it just makes no sense. And if he was obliterated in Hell he wouldn't have come back as a spirit, right?"

"That's true. But you're pretty strong, you know? It's possible that you could be giving yourself those signals without realising it."

"Dammit, that's not—"

Steve froze as his hand unintentionally slapped back down on the map. Something zapped up the length of his arm and into his neck, and next thing he knew he was collapsing onto the floor, pain exploding inside his head. Images and feelings and tastes and smells assaulted him from every direction. He could see Bucky – or what _looked_ like Bucky – as he stalked through fields of fire, ripping off limbs with his bare hands and tearing out throats with his teeth. He moved like a predator, an _animal_ , and cut down whatever was in his way. His hair was long and wild, and there seemed to be something wrong with his left arm, but Steve couldn't get a clear enough look. He reached out, looking to 'fast forward' through the scene, but something clamped down on his shoulder and then he was tumbling backwards.

He came to on the floor still, his chest heaving for breath and his mind still tender. Next to him was Natasha, also gasping for breath and looking a little worse for wear.

"You pulled me out, didn't you? You shouldn't have done that Natasha. You could have hurt us both."

"Are you kidding me right now?" she spat, "What the fuck was that, Steve? You were on the ground shaking, like you were having a seizure or something! What the hell was I supposed to do, just leave you there? And then all I did was touch you and suddenly I'm seeing shit that looks like something from a slasher movie!"

Steve flopped onto his back, rubbing his temples. "Sorry you had to see that. That's just what my dreams are like. They've always been nightmarish. Usually I can manipulate them a bit, but I wasn't in there long enough. And they don't usually happen when I'm awake. The last time that happened I was… Huh. That's how I found Bucky last time, actually."

He looked over at Natasha to find her wearing a murderous expression. It was the closest he'd ever seen to look to being scared.

"What are you?"

"I'm not sure what you—"

"Sorcerers, Warlocks, even high-level Precogs can't do what you're describing. So I'm asking you nicely, Steve. _What are you_?"

The memory came back to him unbidden. It wasn't something he liked to remember, but sitting by his mother's deathbed had left a lasting impression. She'd been delirious most days, telling fairytale-like stories of impossible events, but here and there she'd had moments of clarity. It was in one of those moments that she'd confessed to him, told him a secret she'd once promised she'd never tell. But she couldn't handle the guilt anymore, and she thought Steve deserved to know. Honestly, he would rather she'd never said anything. He didn't want secrets like that. So he'd chalked it up to more delirium and buried it a long way down. 

"My father was a demon. Something from inside the nine circles, but I don't know anything more than that. I never even knew his name, so…"

"In that case you're lucky you didn't inherit more power than you did. You're lucky you didn't inherit his _temperament_."

"My mother said he was a good man, if you can believe it. She didn’t tell me until I was seventeen, though. I always knew she blamed herself for my being sickly as a child, but it wasn't until then that I understood why."

"It's not your fault. But it does mean that you've got to keep a leash on yourself. Especially blood magic. You're probably extremely proficient at it, but it could also send you spinning out of control very easily."

Steve huffed a laugh. "Oh, don't worry, I know. I learned that one the hard way."

"Steve, what the fuck did you do?"

 

~

 

Once Natasha had finally gone, having lectured him enough for one day about making deals with demons, Steve was struck with a terrible idea.

He crept through Tony's workshop into the office he kept at the back, and rifled through the books on a particular shelf. They were disguised to look like nothing much, but old books of dark magic threw off a particular kind of energy. All he'd had to do was follow it to its source, and then find the right book for his purposes.

 

~///+///~

 

It was the hunger that woke him. 

Except that he was always hungry. No matter how much he ate, how much he drank, he never seemed to feel truly sated. 

Blood and death were everywhere. They were all he saw, all he felt. They were his existence now. It felt liked he'd lived for a thousand years or more, going through the motions each day, killing, feeding off the violence, cutting down demons and humans alike when they dared get in his way with a brutality he couldn't seem to curb. But the tedium was the true punishment. The weariness. And he was so, so tired. 

Dreams were his only refuge. 

He did not dream often, but he dreamed true. They were memories, somehow he was sure. The faces, stories, were scattered, but even a disjointed moment of clarity was still more than enough. He clung to them desperately, wishing he could hold onto them for longer, but as time passed, as it inevitably always did, the faces and stories eventually faded.

Still, there were some things he knew for sure. Things that he dreamed of often enough to remember and believe in. And the greatest one of all was a blonde haired, blue eyed boy. That boy was always there in his mind, hovering in the background, waiting for him to notice. And he always noticed. Because the blonde haired, blue eyed boy always came back to him. He never fizzled out or faded away. His image was always strong, and his voice was always clear, even if he couldn't always make out the words. 

But what he liked most of all was that the blonde haired, blue eyed boy _needed_ him. _Him_. If he was hurt or sick, the first one he reached for was _him_. Amongst all the blood and death that he drowned in daily, all he truly desired was to be needed by this boy. The thought reminded him that, for better or worse, there was still a heart that beat in his chest. Whatever had become of him, he was not yet completely lost.

He liked the dark place they kept him in. It was ten steps long and eight steps wide and the floor was cold and hard, but the darkness allowed him to soak in his dreams. They would leave him there for what felt like years, with nothing but images of the blonde haired, blue eyed boy to keep him company. He didn't mind it so much, being left alone, at least until his limbs would get weak and he'd start panting and shaking and growling and they'd have to feed him. 

It never lasted. Eventually they'd take him out of the dark place and back into the outside. 

The outside was strange and uncertain. Sometimes all he could see was fire in every direction he looked. It was endless fields of burning orange, licking at his boots, and then would come the screaming of the souls, bones burning to ash in the flames. The sound made him rage. And then other times the outside was completely different. It could be green or grey or even blue. There might be trees and creatures, and sometimes buildings and cars. There were people almost always, but he was never permitted to engage.

There would be demons at his back – ones he wasn't allowed to kill – and there would be blood and carnage and an infinitesimal moment of freedom. 

Then back to the dark place he would go.

 

~

 

It was a long time before something changed. Longer still before he noticed it. 

It was something in a dream that made him twig, something involving the blonde haired, blue eyed boy. 

The boy was in bed, buried under the covers, his body tossing from side to side. His skin was pale, there was sweat on his brow, and he couldn't stand to see the boy suffer. So he touched him, shook him, until the boy came awake. Words tumbled from the boy's lips, raspy yet clear as day, and he thought he might even understand some of it. But then a single word rang true.

_Whad'ya reckon, Bucky?'_

He sat up on his blanket, staring into the void of the dark place, and said it out loud.

"Bucky."

That was _him_. That was his name. And then…

"Steve."

That was the blonde haired, blue eyed boy. He was sure of it.

He touched a finger to his thigh and traced out the letters that spelled their names. It wasn't much, but somewhere along the line he'd forgotten that he could write words. He supposed that wasn't a surprise, all things considered. He didn't know why the names had suddenly come back to him, or why he was suddenly feeling so lucid. There was no perspective in the dark place, no way to really know things, but that something had happened outside was the only explanation.

Bucky sighed. He could theorise about things all the liked, but answers were an unattainable goal. Rolling over, on his blanket, he tried to get comfortable enough to sleep again. All he wanted was to dream again. Sometimes they took their time coming, but dreams always returned in the end.

For a couple of days, the names disappeared from his mind, but then they came back, and Bucky knew he was Bucky again. 

After that they seemed to stay, and Bucky could recall them at any time he chose. He only said them out loud when he knew it was safe, and kept their secret close to his chest. There were times that their clarity faded for a while, and his mind would fade with them, but that was only when the hunger attacked and feeding time drew close.

More days passed, and with them came more memories that he was able to hold on to. Times when they were small and times when they were big and even times where Steve suddenly had tripled in size and looked like some sort of radical Greek statue. He remembered weapons and strange books, fighting creatures in the city, and Steve making huge explosions with mere flicks of his wrist. He remembered his father kicking him out of the house, he remembered Steve's mother getting sick, and he remembered them both moving in together. 

Then he remembered skin. Steve's skin. His own skin. Both of them together at the same time. Heat and sweat. Steve, naked, sitting on top of him and looking like some kind of ruined angel. Steve's swollen lips around his cock. Both of them coming and making a pearly mess of their stomachs. He even remembered them in a tent, having to bite down on their pillows so the men outside wouldn't hear their screams. 

Bucky's stomach swirled with pleasure when he thought of those things, and it made him hunger for something he'd forgotten he could be hungry for. He would even go so far as to touch the swell of his cock from the outside of his clothes, but that was all he ever did. They would know if he did anything more. Somehow they would know. And he didn't want to be punished for thinking those thoughts. He couldn't bear to associate that sort of beauty with the ugliness of pain.

Not long after that he was taken outside again, and being in the light… it reminded him of a different sort of ugliness. Namely the one attached to his left arm. He didn't remember when or how exactly it had happened, only that he'd been infected with some sort of demonic magic. He recalled vividly the feeling of being eaten alive, something alien gnawing at him from the inside out, chewing faster when he struggled. 

He didn't like to touch it. Despite that it was still very much attached to his body it still felt like a foreign invader, an unwelcome visitor. The skin had turned dark like the colour of ash, and was unnaturally smooth yet not soft. More importantly, it was dangerous. He'd killed with it, perhaps even more than his right arm, because there was something inside it – the demonic voice of the magic – that willed him to chase the violence and revel in it. It was a toxic pollutant in his body, and sometimes he just couldn't will the poison away.

He wondered what Steve would think if he saw him, if he would be scared of the thing he'd become. He wondered if Steve would even let Bucky touch him were he to know of the monsters lurking inside.

Demons lined up behind Bucky and he led them outside, to the place he'd been told and no further. There was a worker inside the office building before him, a kid who could will souls to flee from their bodies – even demon souls. The soldiers at his back were going to storm the building and kill everyone in their path, including the kid. He was only to interfere if the kid tried to escape, no exceptions. Not that he dared otherwise.

The man in the suit would be watching. The man in the suit always seemed to be watching. If Bucky made a misstep he would be watching.

 

~

 

Bucky also remembered the Hellmouth. 

He remembered the fire that had burned him as he was swallowed whole.

The realm of Hell had stretched out behind him, but Bucky still faced the way he came. Somehow he could still see Steve out there, fighting the blood-red beast. 

He'd seen the pain on his face as Bucky had disappeared, and the moment his magic had broken open, the fatal crack in the dam.

He'd looked on in awe as Steve had walked up to the beast and pulled its heart out with his hand, like a hot knife cutting through butter. The beast was finished, its power imploding in on itself and taking Steve with it, but in its last moments its eyes had been locked onto one thing – Bucky.

 

~///+///~

 

Maybe he was making a mistake not telling anyone his plans. Probably. Very likely. But they would only try to stop him and he couldn't deal with the fight right now.

He hooked his shield on his back, tucked a dagger in his belt, and headed up to the roof. He'd been just about to get started when the beating of wings reached his ears.

"What'chu up to, Cap?"

Sam's wings folded away seamlessly as he walked over to him.

"Nothin' good."

"You don't say. Want me to come with?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm pretty sure you'd go up like a lighthouse if you went where I'm going."

Sam pursed his lips and Steve could see the wheels turning. If he'd wanted anyone at his back it would have been Sam – he was happy to say that they'd hit it off from the very beginning – but Sam's status as a Nephilim gave him a direct link to angels and thus to the Heavenly realm, and anything Heavenly that tried to enter in to Hell was equated to a hundred alarm bells going off at once. Or so he'd heard.

"I don't like what you're implying, man. The others won't like this either."

"I know they won't," Steve said, conceding the point, "Which was why I was trying to be quiet about it. I don't know if Nat's said anything to you, but my going there is like the opposite of you going there, if you get me…"

Sam's eyes went round. "No shit. I did not see that comin'. But still."

"Please, Sam. Just give me… four hours? My friend, Bucky, he's trapped in there. I've figured out that he's the one that's been leading the demon armies here to kill undergrounders. Not of his own free will, though. Someone's controlling him. So I have to go talk to him, see where his head's at, and figure out what can be done. If I'm not back in four hours I promise you can go and tattle on me. Deal?"

"Oh, no. I've heard this one," Sam teased, "We're not supposed to make deals with you guys. So you can get the hell outta here."

Steve grinned in return, but then forced himself to focus. He drew a symbol in the air and then made a chopping motion with his hand, a rip into the Hell realm opening before him. He heard Sam make a sound behind him, something that sounded a little like 'Aw, shit', but Steve paid it no mind as he stepped through and felt his skin start to burn.

He wanted to gape in awe at the fields of fire that stretched out before him – the same fields he'd been dreaming of for weeks – but there was no time to waste. He pulled a cloaking spell over himself and then let his 'feelers' branch out, searching for his target. It was only a matter of seconds before he got his first ping, and he followed the sensation as it grew stronger, leading him across the flames and down a hidden staircase that took him underground. 

The temperature immediately dropped to near freezing and there was little to no light to guide the way. The pings took him through more doorways and more rooms – all empty – until he came to a final lightless, closed-off cell that smelled like damp.

"Bucky? Are you in there?"

"Steve?"

The voice was harsh and dry-sounding.

"Are you in my head?"

"No Buck. Not in your head."

"Oh. You're usually in my head. I hear you in there sometimes."

"Well, now I can be here with you. Would you like that?"

"More than anything."

Steve gave the room a gentle illumination, letting him see that Bucky was lying on the hard ground with only a single blanket for comfort. His eyes were closed at first, but then with the arrival of light they sprang wide of a sudden, looking spooked, and then he jumped to his feet, backing into the wall.

"How…? No, it's impossible. I saw you die, Stevie. I saw you _die_. I saw you—"

"But I'm here now Buck. The Hydra dragged me to Purgatory, but a witch was able to pull me back out, so I'm really here." He took a step towards Bucky, who seemed to have quietened down some, but was still pressing himself into the wall like he could escape. "And what am I supposed to say, then? I saw you die too. I saw them draw you into the Hellmouth. I thought they'd taken you from me."

"No, no, I-…" Bucky's chest heaved as he tried to calm himself, "They fucked me up, Steve. I'm not normal anymore. And there's a guy out there, he keeps me here and takes me out when he wants me. Makes me… do things."

"'m sorry, Buck. I wish I could've come for you sooner."

Steve held out a hand and Bucky quickly came to him without any further hesitation. Having him back in his arms was the sweetest relief, even if he would soon have to let him go again and leave him behind. But he couldn't think about that just yet. Not yet. Not with Bucky's face buried in his shoulder, his shaking limbs curled around his waist, that too-familiar smell of his skin. He couldn't decide if it was a pleasure or a punishment.

"Smell so good, Steve, smell just the same, like I imagined it."

"You too, Buck. You smell just like _you_. I've missed it so much."

Letting the silence drag for as long as he dared, Steve committed every piece of Bucky to memory. He noticed the discoloured left arm, and something else about Bucky's temperament that seemed 'on edge', but he didn't pick at it and left it be for the moment.

"I need to talk to you about something, Bucky. Think you're up for it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I'm just a bit shook up, y'know?"

"It's not your fault, okay? Let's just sit together for a bit." He got Bucky seated on the blanket again, parking himself close enough that they touched from knee to shoulder. He gave him another minute to settle, and started speaking slow and clear. "I've got a plan to get you out of here, alright? But I'm going to need your help."

"Anything you say. You know I'm up for it."

"Good, I'm glad. I'm going to need you to tell me first about the demon that's keeping you here."

Steve braced for some reaction, but was happy to see that Bucky managed to hold it together.

"He's wearing the body of a man. He looks about sixty-something. Fair skin, fair hair. Always wearing a grey three piece suit. He's extremely strong. Looks at me sometimes like he blames me for something. No idea what, though."

Nodding, Steve conjured an image of the man in his mind – he'd seen brief flashes of him in his dreams but had not understood much else about it and still didn't. "If I said he seems familiar, would that make sense?"

"Yeah. I don't think I'd seen his face before he took me, but something about him… it _feels_ familiar."

"I feel the same. But more to the point, next time you come back to Earth I'm going to meet you there and—"

"You can't, though! Not on your own!"

"I won't be on my own. Remember I said that a witch pulled me out of Purgatory? She works with a team of Hunters that all have special abilities. I'm going to bring them with me, so don't worry. Then after we've dealt with the demon soldiers I'm going to summon the demon-man, bring him to us, and I'm going to hold him while you—"

"Pull out his heart, right?"

"Exactly."

Bucky was silent as he pondered the plan, nodding every now and again. "It's doable. But how are you going to track me across dimensions?"

"If you're agreeable," Steve posed tentatively, not sure how Bucky was going to react, "I'd like to form a mental bond with you. It'll allow us to sense each other, even across dimensions, but it's… kind of permanent."

"Kind of?"

"No, it's properly permanent. Sorry."

"Right… And what happens if one of us dies?"

"It'll hurt like fuck."

Again Bucky was silent. Slowly pondering.

"One last thing… Before I can make the link I'll need to know about… about what's different. With you."

He could hear Bucky curse under his breath but he gave no real response to Steve's query. Moments passed in which Bucky seemed to be collecting himself, cataloguing his body, preparing for Steve to unveil his secrets. Then, just when Steve was about to suggest that they didn't have to go through with it, Bucky picked up Steve's hand and placed it over his chest – over his heart. Immediately Steve was taken back to that night he'd brought Bucky back from the dead, when they were curled up together in their tent, holding each other close. Steve had fussed so much that Bucky had finally relented, agreeing to let Steve probe his body to magic to prove that he was really okay. Now he was allowing it once more.

"It's gonna be okay, Buck, I promise."

Keeping it gentle at first, waiting for Bucky to get used to the sensation, Steve was eventually able to dig deep, see through to Bucky's very core. He felt the pain and isolation Bucky had endured, wishing they were things he could fix, but then he found the twin viruses swimming around through Bucky's bloodstream, and chased them down to the source. The demonic infection in his arm was pure blackness, and he knew that it had simply been there too long – if he tried ripping it out Bucky was likely to lose the arm altogether. He did what little he could, however, and put a block in place to confine the poison to the arm. The second virus was the more troubling one. Steve only had to skim over it to feel the hunger it incited. And then he knew – it was vampirism. He managed to dampen the cravings just a bit, but there was little more he could do.

Steve was quick to put the mental bond in place, a vague sense of Bucky suddenly sparking in the back of his mind, and then he withdrew. Bucky was unmoving, looking a little stunned, and Steve pulled him in close, his own selfish need to hold him taking over.

"I'm so sorry, Buck."

"Not your fault. The demon-man thought it would be a good way to control me, as well as being ironic since that's what killed me before."

"I can't wait to kill that son of a bitch."

They stayed as they were for a long time, still and calm, until Bucky started to fidget. 

"You need to leave now. I haven't been fed in a week and it's getting harder to keep control of myself."

Steve bit his lip, hesitant to ask. "What do you need?"

Bucky blinked in horror. "No. No way. I couldn't do that to you—"

"Why the hell not? I've always had darkness in me, Buck. You know it, you've seen it. We're two of a kind and we've always shared everything. Why not this, too?"

"I-… I don't know. What if I go too far?"

"I can stop you if I have to. You know I can."

Pulling back the collar of his jacket, Steve bared his throat. Bucky still seemed to want to stop himself, but taking one look at Steve's neck had him practically drooling, his canines lengthening and sharpening behind his upper lip.

"You stop me if…"

Steve nodded. And Bucky leaned in. 

The pinch was sharp at first, stinging as his skin was pierced and the blood started to flow. But then Bucky's lips came down, latching on, and he began to suck. Pleasure swirled, the sensation unlike anything Steve had felt before, and it was… _fuck_ it was getting him hard. So goddamn hard. 

"Christ, Bucky, don't stop."

They rolled onto the floor, Steve on his back and Bucky's mouth still in place, his jaw moving as he sucked small mouthfuls down his throat. Steve couldn't stop his hips from jerking upward, looking for contact, and Bucky moaned when he suddenly realised what he was up to. Legs shifted, thighs slotted into place, and suddenly Bucky's cock was right where Steve wanted it, albeit hidden by layers of clothes. His chest heaved and Bucky responded with his hands, Steve whimpering as both their belts were worked loose. 

Finally, _finally_ , he got his palm around Bucky's cock just as Bucky did the same. It was probably the worst possible time for them to be doing such a thing, in the worst possible place, and not to mention all the shit they were dealing with – Bucky especially – but Steve decided that they just needed the moment's reprieve. That was all he wanted. Just that moment. They could deal with the consequences later – once they were both sated and Bucky was fed and the demon-man had been figuratively sent to Hell.

"C'mon, c'mon," Steve chanted between breaths, his knuckles knocking against Bucky's as they jacked each other off. Bucky was so hard in his hand, his skin so warm, and he could feel him throbbing against his palm. He could feel his climax coming on, his head getting light – but whether that was from the hand on his cock or the blood being drained from his body was anyone's guess.

Suddenly Steve's body was arching taut like a bow, both their hands squeezing in time, and then they were both coming over their fists, the bitter smell filling the small room. Bucky's teeth withdraw from his neck, his tongue licked the wound, and Steve's head lolled to the side. 

"I don't know what came over me, but… I think I really like your teeth in my neck."

"Goddamn, Steve. I didn't even know that was a thing. But apparently you've got it."

"When have you ever known anything about me to be normal?"

"That's true."

Steve found a folded up handkerchief in his back pocket – old habits an' all – and wiped them up best he could. He then cleared the air of their scent and not a moment too soon, as footsteps echoed off the stone walls up above.

"Shit. Gotta go."

"Be safe, Stevie."

Steve pulled their lips together, just for a split second, and then he was plunging the room back into darkness, his hands whipping through the air in front of him.

 

~

 

Steve leapt through the rip and let it close behind him with a snap. He'd opened it directly into his bedroom this time, so he grasped for the chair at his desk and sat down before he fell down. 

He tried to calm down his breathing before he ended up hyperventilating. The close call at the end, as well as having Bucky against him again and then having to leave him there… A tear squeezed out the corner of his eye and he choked back a sob. He could sense through the link that Bucky was okay, but it just wasn't enough.

"Hey, now."

Steve looked up to find Sam lying on his bed, his expression pinched with concern.

"Sorry, I… It's just really hard. Leaving him there."

"But you've got a plan, right? And he's in on it now?"

He nodded in response, not sure the words would come out. 

"So as long as we keep things cool, you'll have him back in no time. Trust in him, Steve, and trust that you can do what you need to when the time comes."

"Yeah. Of course… I-… yeah." He sighed. "I need a shower."

"I'll say," Sam said with a wink, pointing at Steve's crotch, "You got a little somethin'…"

"Aw, hell."

 

~

 

Two days passed, and Steve raised the alarm when he sensed Bucky on the move.

Tony still wanted him to say the 'Avengers Assemble' nonsense he kept harping on about, but Steve was as stubborn as he was old, and would outlast Tony's whining for as long as he had to.

They arrived on the scene just as the demon soldiers were pouring in from a rip, their target this time a young woman with strong Precognitive abilities who worked for an insurance company. Providing everyone was where they should be, the girl should already have been evacuating with Maria and Clint along with the rest of the building's occupants, while the rest of them would take care of the demons before they managed to get inside. Steve could feel that Bucky was nearby, though he couldn't get a visual lock on him. He just had to take care of as many demons as possible before he followed through on his plan and things got too messy to control.

Thor, Tony, Natasha, and Sam were in his peripherals, going hell for leather against the hundreds of demons teeming out of the rip, fire and fists flying every which way. They'd left Bruce at home on this occasion, not willing to put civilians at risk from the Hulk's lack of finesse, but everyone was holding their own, so Steve had no reason to worry. Not yet.

It took time, but they eventually reduced the demons to a scant few, and he finally spotted Bucky up ahead. He was pale and shaky, messed up from having helped in fighting the demons, but he nodded when he locked eyes with Steve, and Steve took that as a 'go'.

Drawing everyone's attention, Steve cut his hand and painted a horribly familiar symbol on the ground. 

Immediately a loud crack appeared in the middle of the street, opening like a door. A man stepped out. He was middle aged, ordinary looking, and dressed in a suit. This was the man Bucky had spoken about, the man Steve had been dreaming of. This man was the Hydra reborn.

He stepped out onto the street and smiled. 

"Long time no see, Warlock. What's it been? Seventy years?"

Steve grit his teeth. "You are not the Red Skull, demon."

"No, that's true," he said sedately, "I go by Pierce these days. But people shouldn't leave demon hearts just lying around either, should they? Very sloppy of you. All I had to do was waltz up to it, chow down, and here we are. I didn't acquire _all_ his powers, sadly, but still enough to get by."

"I guess I'll just have to fix it then, won't I?"

Pierce smiled again, and Steve threw up his shield just in time to stop a bolt of dark energy from impaling his face.

"I can't be letting you do that, I'm sorry." Pierce turned to Bucky, "James, would you mind?"

Steve kept his shield up high, lest Pierce see the grin on his lips, and just as Bucky started to move he and Natasha hit the floor. They drove power into the ground, speaking aloud a few words of old Latin, and Steve could feel the 'lock' click into place as the spell took hold and Pierce was restrained where he stood.

"You're fools if you think this will hold me for long."

"It doesn't have to," Steve shot back with a smirk, "Just for long enough."

Pierce's eyes clouded over, and he looked over to Bucky, irate that his captive soldier had failed to do his bidding. 

"What the fuck are you waiting for, boy?"

Bucky's head tilted to the side as he looked at Pierce. "Nothing, _Alex_. Just taking one last look at you."

Two steps was all it took for Bucky to invade Pierce's space. Bucky pulled the glove from his infected hand and plunged it into the centre of the demon's chest, pulling it back out with the Hydra's heart clutched in his fist. Pierce looked down at the gaping hole in his chest, his face somehow becoming even darker, and he stared back at Steve with accusation.

"How dare—!"

"No, no. Stop talking."

Bucky made eye contact, and then was throwing the heart high into the air. Steve jumped to his feet and thrust his hands up, a bolt of pure light passing through the flesh and splintering the heart into a million pieces. Finally it was done.

"No…"

"Everybody get down!"

The Avengers took cover as the release of energy started to build, Steve pulling Bucky back behind his shield. The blast threw them through the air all the same, their bodies crashing together on the ground in a tangle of limbs.

"Ow."

"You good, Stevie?"

Steve looked up at Bucky from where he was pillowed on his chest, an arm squeezed around Bucky's waist. Both of them were covered in blood and ash and bits of dead demon.

"I'm great, actually. You?"

"Best I've been in a long time."

Throwing his shield to the side, Steve took him into his arms, uncaring that they were essentially lying in the middle of the road. Bucky's hands dug into his back, arms squeezing tight, and Steve let go a long breath as Bucky started to shake, two spots of dampness soaking through the shoulder of his uniform. 

"You're free now, Buck. We can be together again."

Bucky nodded against his shoulder then sobbed all the harder for it. 

Glancing to the side, he caught Natasha in the final motions of casting a clean-up spell, then she waved as she followed the other Avengers back to their transport, Steve signalling her to leave he and Bucky behind. He let Bucky's tears play out, running soothing hands over his back and shoulders, and eventually managed to coax him back onto his feet.

"Let's walk back to my place, huh? I think some fresh air would do us both good."

Steve hooked his shield to his back once more and wrapped his right hand around Bucky's left, threading their fingers together and holding tight before Bucky could pull away. Bucky tugged at it all the same, looking awkward and uncomfortable that Steve was touching his poisoned hand so explicitly, but he eventually got the message that Steve was having none of it. 

"I love all of you, even your demon hand. Better get used to it."

"You're a goddamn fool, Steve Rogers."

"So I've heard."

 

~///end///~


End file.
